


i knew it wasn't too important (but it made me sad anyway)

by Pinkmanite



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Slice of Life, Vague Polyamorous Motif (but not the focal point), William Nylander Character Study, working title: catcher in the ny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-04 09:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18341300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: Will’s tried to reel back the whole ‘argue with the professor’ thing, just so he doesn’t get any more hate comments on the Undergrad Anonymous Confessions page; he already got called out on Black Sheep last semester. Kappy was second-hand mortified and Auston wouldn’t let him live it down for months.Personally, Will thought it was kind of funny, and he was maybe a little triumphant about his reputation, but he’d never admit that to his friends. Let their reactions play out. Besides. Image, and all.(Or, Willy's been dressing like That Kid you hated in all your lectures so here's his apparent sick fantasy, oops)





	i knew it wasn't too important (but it made me sad anyway)

**Author's Note:**

> So I have a very frustrating case of writer's block and this was banged out in an attempt to get over the hump; hope it worked 😅
> 
> This fic was inspired by [this collection](https://twitter.com/pinkmanite/timelines/1113592766200721408) of quote tweets (sorry, you'll have to be [following me on twitter](https://twitter.com/pinkmanite) to view it, but if not, [here](https://twitter.com/TheFlintor/status/1110232585123360769)'s the original one they're all referencing) reacting to this Fashion Statement Of A Look:

Will’s having an existential crisis.

“This is like, your fifth existential crisis of the day,” Auston points out unhelpfully from his desk across their dorm room. He doesn’t even bother to look up when he says it, too focused on rolling the joint in front of him and too unbothered by Will’s now-familiar antics.

But Will won’t give it up, even still. He stretches out on the floor, arms thrown wide on his back. He sighs, heavy. “Why do we all so quietly play into this whole fucking system. Break our backs studying just so we can break our backs laboring in boring made-up jobs.” He shuts his eyes, lets his head loll back. “For what? To eat TV dinners, exhausted every night in a shitty studio apartment? God, what’s even to look _forward_ to.”

Auston hears every word, but he chooses to do nothing more than hum, instead, and twist the end of the joint. “Where’re your scissors?”

“Side table,” Will says easy, doesn’t miss a beat. Even in the middle of his revelation.

“Thanks,” Auston grins, unphased. There’s silence while Auston trims the joint, then the click of his lighter and the weight of his breath. Will tunes into every little sound, lets it wash over him.

“Hey,” Auston finally pokes him with his toe. “You gonna smoke this with me or nah?”

“Ethically made?”

“Ethically grown, made, and distributed, right up until I very _un_ ethically acquired it,” Auston confirms.

Will huffs, murmurs something about ending the war on drugs, but then efficiently rolls up until he’s straightened up enough to stand back up. “Yeah, alright,” he takes the joint, carefully between two fingers, mindful of the ash. The inhale burns and he can feel it lump in his throat, but he chases it with another and swallows down the discomfort.

His exhale is slow, relaxed. The smoke billows around him in its own familiar haze. The body effect is immediate, he can feel everything melt out of his bones, his muscles. Feels his posture slack, his shoulders fall forward.

Auston grins at him, not quite there yet but already starting to go loose. “There we go,” he says, proud.

Will shakes his head, takes one more hit before passing it back. Auston doesn’t hesitate, taps it off when he’s done two more.

Eventually, Will finds himself cuddled up on Auston’s chest, content with one of Auston’s arms around him. Auston’s already grabbed his glasses — because Will would’ve forgotten otherwise — and set them on his sidetable. He’s warm, it’s nice. But. “I’m still disheartened by the impending future of the mundane,” he mumbles, lazily blinking the buzz from this head. He tucks his head under Auston’s chin. “Fucking sucks.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Auston says into his hair. He blows out through his mouth, put out. “Cogs, all of us.”

“All of us,” Will hums.

 

~

 

It’s more than halfway through the semester, so Will’s tried to reel back the whole ‘argue with the professor’ thing, just so he doesn’t get hate comments on the Undergrad Anonymous Confessions page; he already got called out on Black Sheep last semester. Kappy was second-hand mortified and Auston wouldn’t let him live it down.

(Personally, Will thought it was kind of funny, and he was maybe a little triumphant about his reputation, but he’d never admit it to his friends.)

He’s tried to reel that in, but progress is not perfection, and sometimes he really does want to say something for a good reason, and not just to be obnoxious. Actually, that’s most of the time, but no one needs to know that. He has an image to keep up with here.

“Professor,” Will raises his hand, but keeps talking despite it. The girl behind him groans and he’s sure he hears a murmured ‘godammit’ from somewhere on the side. He doesn’t care.

Kyle, his professor — who refuses to be called anything but ‘Professor’ or ‘Kyle’, and never his surname unless you’d like a lecture on it — turns just slightly, enough to level a look at Will over his shoulder while he finishes what he’s writing on the board.

“Yes?”

“I can’t say I agree with your interpretation of the narrator’s motives.”

(“Great, here we go,” says the peanut gallery.)

“At all?” Kyle turns fully now, chin held up, challenge acknowledged.

“Not really,” Will makes a face. “In fact, I’d genuinely say it’s quite the opposite. I don’t see him motivated by greed, but in fact a loyalty to protect his family.”

Kyle leans against the board, crosses his arms over his chest. The hint of a smile, barely there at the corner of his lips, is enough to signal that he’s fully intrigued now.

Will hears the girl behind him put her pencil down with a thud. It fuels him.

“Don’t you think that’s a little too surface?”

“Well I still wouldn’t call it greed. There's so much more rooted into it than just greed. It’s deeper than that. In fact, I'd say chalking it up as greed is _a little too surface._ ”

Kyle visibly considers, then shrugs, neutral. “That’s a pretty interesting way to think about it,” but he before he continues, he checks his watch. “And I’d love to hear more about it when you stop in for office hours.” He turns back to the board.

Will doesn’t miss the definite use of ‘when’ rather than the invitational ‘if you’d like’ that Kyle usually offers to the rest of the class. Well, cogs in the machine are creatures of habit, after all. It’d be silly for Kyle not to expect him at this point, anyway.

The girl behind Will picks her pencil back up and starts scratching down notes again, noticeably more inconsiderate with the way her pencil lead squeaks awfully in Will’s ear.

Then again, maybe it’s deliberate.

 

~

 

Kappy had asked him to go to this house show with him weeks ago, and as much as Will would like to flake on him to go have a bubble bath with his dab pen, he’s unfortunately a much better friend than that.

So, too big to fit in the pockets of his skinny jeans, he tucks his pen safely in his waistband and hopes that this house is bud-friendly.

In fact. “Yo, are they gonna let me smoke there?”

“Mm,” Kappy shrugs, takes a pull from his Juul. “Probably? It’s DIY, man.”

Will rolls his eyes. “You’ve definitely dragged me to a DIY that kicked me out for smoking. The one in the suburbs?”

“This one’s in the city,” Kappy waves him off, as if that answers his question.

Knowing that’s about as good as he’s going to get from him, Will pushes his glasses up and hopes for the best.

It must work because when they arrive a few minutes late into the first set — some girl on ukulele who won’t break falsetto — it takes everything in Will not to audibly celebrate when he sees the host pass a joint to a couple of his buddies. They take a couple of shots with the guys, just to get in their good graces before pulling out his pen. They don't head back into the crowd without a couple of drinks in hand, but Will's keen to get going with his packed lunch here. 

When he finally does fish it out of his pants, Kappy flicks him an annoyed look. But yet, he doesn’t turn down a hit when offered so he can deal with it. Will sucks one down for himself, not really feeling Ukulele Girl’s vibe. It’s alright, though, because she’s eventually replaced by another act. This time a band, actually utilizing the drum set this time.

The vibe’s better, the crowd loosens up a little bit more, grooves with it. Kappy ducks off to find them more beers and returns sipping a Belgian Moon. He dutifully hands over some home-bottled dark brew he grabbed just for Will. The label’s kind of cute, has a whole bunch of stuff about organic, local ingredients written out in a paragraph that Will decides is too long to read in the dark right now. But he appreciates it, clinks his bottle with Kappy’s just so he knows.

“I like these guys,” Kappy hums in the lull between songs.

“They’re good,” Will agrees, starting to feel just a little crossed. “They give me like, early Saint Motel vibes.”

Kappy makes a considering noise. “I could see that. Like if Saint Motel and Colony House had a lovechild.”

“Ooh,” Will nods, “you’re right, I can see the Colony House influence.”

“Funny thing is, though,” Kappy’s voice goes lower, he leans in closer, “they self-describe as heavily-influenced by Smallpools.”

“You’re joking,” Will stifles a laugh. “They sound _nothing_ like Smallpools.”

“That’s what I’m saying, man,” Kappy gets even closer, not that he has to anymore, but. “They’re good but they need to get their shit together if they’re trying to get out of basements.”

“Hey,” Will closes the distance, kisses Kappy once on the lips, chaste. “I like bands in basements.”

Kappy laughs, “I know you do, babe, I know.”

“But,” Will muses, right up against Kappy’s ear now. The full brunt of being crossed is starting to hit him, and he’s never been good at impulse control in such a state. “I could ditch this one for other things.” He pulls back just enough to wink, suggestive.

Inhaling sharply, Kappy wraps his hand tighter around Will’s hip.

“Whatever you want, babe.”

Will chugs the rest of his homebrew and grins devilishly. Kappy follows his lead, no questions need be asked.

 

~

 

Will spends an hour trying to hide his red eyes and dark circles before pulling up to Kyle’s office hours. He’d copped some of Kappy’s roommate’s concealer, maybe too-expertly dabbing it on under his eyes.

“You should just take it,” Kappy groans from where he’s more or less dying under the comforter, hiding from the sunlight beaming in through the window. “You use it more than her.”

Will shrugs, too busy wincing as he uses some of Kappy’s eyedrops. He doesn’t really use contacts these days, but contact-specific eye drops are better than none. He just hopes it clears the red from his eyes.

He inspects himself in Kappy’s muggy mirror and he’s feeling pretty good about it, sure that he looks freshly sprung and only internally hungover.

Chin high, he swaggers into Kyle’s office without knocking, as he does every week.

Kyle doesn’t look up all the way, but he glances at him briefly before going back to his laptop. “You look like shit.”

Will makes a face, affronted, but it doesn’t stop him from unceremoniously dumping his jacket and bag on the ground. He settles in his favorite chair, slinks into it like it’s routine.

“Long night?” Kyle smirks, even as he keeps typing.

“Fuck off,” Will shoots back, easy. He reaches across Kyle’s desk and tugs the charge cord out of his iPhone, replacing it with his own. Kyle doesn’t protest, he never does. Will crosses one leg over the other, much too comfortable.

It’s a minute before Kyle finally finishes whatever it is that he’s doing on his laptop, but then he leans back in his chair, steeples his hands. Breathes out with finality. “So, the narrator.”

Will grins. “Have you thought about it?”

Kyle stays neutral. “Have you?”

“I stand by what I said,” Will sits up a little, getting ready to jump into it with Kyle.

“Good,” Kyle grins, toothy, like he’s been hiding something. “Would you believe me if I said I left that for you to find?”

“Psh, absolutely not,” Will scoffs. “You’re just trying to cover your ass after realizing I’m right.”

“Am not,” Kyle says maybe too quickly, but Will sees right through him. It’s been a long semester, he knows how to read him well enough by now.

“You should just give me my A now,” Will smiles sweet, cheeky.

Kyle shakes his head, amused, even as his front has dissolved. “Don’t push it, Nylander.”

“Me? Never, Will winks. He pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s talk about it, though,” Kyle hums, glint in his eye. “I want to hear your thoughts. What did you see that swayed you?”

And it’s easy then, to dive into the material. Will has his copy of the book buried somewhere in his bag, but Kyle’s is conveniently sitting right there on top of a stack of papers, well-worn and littered in post-it flags. He snatches it before Kyle can, flips through the pages with his thumb until he finds what he’s looking for.

Kyle listens, genuinely curious for his opinions, and Will is more than happy to oblige him. It’s good, having a real conversation, a solid give-and-take with Kyle. They compare their findings, pick the text apart.

It’s easy, it’s comfortable, and it’s a good enough lead up for when Kyle’s phone alarm goes off and he looks Will over, misses nonchalant by a longshot.

“That’s it for office hours, I’m afraid,” Kyle shrugs, but Will knows by now that it’s the furthest thing from a dismissal. “Up for some coffee?”

“The usual place?” Will asks, even though he knows.

Kyle rolls his eyes. “The last time I tried to take you anywhere else you gave me shit for all of my life choices.”

“Not all of them,” Will counters. “Just the fact that you were supporting unethical corporate practices, and you know,” he makes a face, unpleasant, “the fact that you drink shit coffee.”

“You’re so annoying,” Kyle pokes, shrugging on his jacket.

But Will laughs, mildly endeared. He tugs his toque lower on his head, covering his ears. “But imagine this semester without me.”

Kyle comes around his desk, ready now, and bumps their arms together. “Couldn’t ever dream of it.”

 

~

 

“You have a hickey the size of the US national debt,” is how Mitch answers the door, even despite the fact that Will so graciously took the time out of his very busy day to stop by.

With an indignant huff, he pulls his scarf until it’s taught around his neck, uncomfortable and unfashionable but extremely functional. “You can sage this whole house yourself,” he says, but the threat is hollow.

Mitch knows it, and he lets him know by ushering him inside and taking the little brown bag right out of Will’s hands. He takes it to the kitchen while Will tugs off his boots and hangs his coat.

“One of those is weed,” Will calls from the foyer.

“Of course it is,” Mitch sighs, emptying the bag on his countertop and setting the baggie of marijuana to the side. It’s very much _not_ a bundle of dried sage and there’s no way anyone could mistake them for each other, but Mitch knows Will well enough by now. He doesn't question it, nor does he question where this apparently extra special sage came from. 

(He was really going to just get the one from Whole Foods but Will insisted he'd get him the 'real' stuff, whatever that means.)

Instead, he ignores the offending item and starts to set up the smudging set. It’s just the bundle of sage and a little oval dish that Mitch swears he’s actually seen Will use as an ashtray on multiple occasions before.

“Need a light?” Will spins his lighter between his fingers. It’s a Zippo, dressed in what Mitch would describe as a pretentious leather case, embossed with Will’s monogram.

But alas, “yes, please.”

“Okay, but first,” Will nudges him gently, takes the sage in his free hand. “Visualize what exactly you want to expel from your space.”

Even though he’s still a little skeptical, Mitch has done enough Wikipedia-reading to know that Will is not fucking around about this part. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. A specific face pops into his head and he tries to ignore the awful hurt that accompanies it in his chest. His exhale is a little shaky, but he feels Will’s hand on his shoulder. Reassuring.

“You ready?” Will says gently, softer now. When Mitch nods, he continues, clear and concise but voice still soothing. “Good, I’m going to need you to command your space. Just, we’ll start by banishing negative energy and reinforcing that it’s _your_ space.”

“Uh?” Mitch shifts from foot to foot, maybe little a lost here. 

Will nods, goes slow. “I’ll do the first bit, okay? Watch me.”

Mitch leans against the counter and watches Will light the looser end of the bundle. It takes a second, flames up bright for a moment, but eventually smolders enough to Will’s satisfaction.

He looks at Mitch while he pockets his lighter and picks up the dish. He nods, then turns toward the room. Starts in the corner, waving the smudge in counter-clockwise circles. “This is Mitchell’s space and only good energy can remain. All negativity must leave this space.”

Mitch watches in a trance as Will repeats the mantra, slowly pacing around the kitchen. The smell of sage is pungent, but it’s not necessarily bad. Although. Not much of a Yankee Candle, either, though.

The smoke billows in thick streams, obscures Will’s concentrated face from where Mitch is standing. He moves closer, once he thinks he understands the gist of it.

Will smiles softly, passes over the smudge set carefully. “Remember, visualize what you’re getting rid of. Good vibes only, yeah?”

“Mhm,” Mitch nods, catching himself falling further into zen. He supposes that Will’s vibe just kind of rubs off like that. He can be chill when he wants to be, and now is definitely one of those times.

It feels weird for Mitch, though, who’s used to going a mile a minute twenty-four seven. But Will must get it, because he nudges him gently, nods toward the other side of the room.

“Come on, we’ve got this whole house to cover, bud,” Will grins at him.

Mitch supposes he’s right, then gets to it, copying Will’s motions and repeating his words, a little shaky. He feels embarrassed at first, but Will nods encouragingly and coaxes him into speaking firmer, moving with more purpose.

It feels strangely personal, maybe intimate, even, but in the way Will likes to describe some of his infatuations — nothing romantic but intoxicatingly connected by some kind of fate. Intertwined, their lives tied together in carefully-constructed bowlines.

If the circumstances were different, if Mitch weren’t literally cleansing his terrible ex-boyfriend out of his house, maybe he’d reconsider Will’s philosophies. But there’s a time and place, and Will’s here as nothing more than a good friend. Even if that means something else for Will, Mitch knows what it means for him.

So he continues with the smudge, content to just have Will’s presence, his energy, supporting him all the way through. They make it through every room, even his roommates’, until Will declares that that should be sufficient. Mitch lets the little stub of what’s left of the sage stick fall into the dish. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with it, but he’s sure that Will knows how to take care of it.

“Can you feel it?” Will says when they’re back in the kitchen. He grabs his baggie and gets to work pocketing it somewhere safe. “It’s so much lighter in here already.”

The thing is, Mitch really _does_ feel it. Maybe it’s just in his head, but it does feel nice, and that much he can’t deny. He grins at Will, genuine, pleased. “Yeah, alright, maybe your hippie shit _does_ work.”

Will winks. “Have a little faith, eh, Mitchy?”

 

~

 

 

“Jesus, what monster left that thing on your neck?” Auston grimaces the second Will shuts their door behind him.

Will makes a face. “Is it _really_ that bad?”

Auston considers, and it’s obvious to Will that it is, and that Auston is stuck on admitting that or not. So he puts him out of his misery. “Great, it’s that bad.” He kicks off his shoes and throws his coat and bag in the vague direction of his desk. Flopping onto his bed, just an air of dramatic, he blows out a hefty breath.

“Courtesy of?” Auston inquires, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Courtesy of none of your business,” Will groans. He takes off his glasses and carefully sets them on his side table next to their case, can’t be bothered to put them back all the way.

“Kappy or Kyle?” Auston keeps pushing, the smile evident in his voice. He doesn’t look up from whatever he’s doing at his desk, and Will is just a little irked about it.

“Why them?” Will says stubbornly.

Auston pauses, just to roll his eyes. “Well it wasn’t me, so who else?”

“I’m not restricted to just the three of you, that’s not how that works.”

“Yeah, but I know you,” Auston closes his notebook and crosses the room until he’s sitting on Will’s bed, too. He doesn’t hesitate in getting comfy, doesn’t hesitate in tugging at Will until he’s cuddled up next to him.

Will buries his head in Auston’s chest. He sighs. “Kyle,” he murmurs, muffled into Auston’s shirt.

“Knew it,” Auston laughs, the shake of his chest jostling Will around. He looks up just to throw him a glare, then returns to his spot.

Auston kisses the top of his head in a half-hearted apology, pulls him in closer. “Wanna make out and then roll one?”

“I just picked up,” Will adds helpfully. “We can smoke it if you roll it, I’m feeling lazy.”

Auston laughs. “Of course, but you can just admit you’re shit at rolling.”

“Hey,” Will huffs, and that’s how Auston knows it’s true.

“Thought so,” he grins.

Will resettles until he can kiss him, closed-mouth and chaste, for now, but charged nonetheless. “You gonna shut up and make out with me or you changed your mind?”

Auston leans in, kisses him for real, wet and dirty. “I’d never.”

Will laughs against his lips.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time Connor Carrick definitely introduced a freshman Will to all of his favorite local, organic, ethically-grown, hipster cafes across the city. And yes, Will owns a longboard, but I think he's probably shit at actually riding it lmao 
> 
> Title is a 'Catcher in the Rye' quote, and shoutout to my boy Caleb, who is definitely _that_ type of kid, and whomst most of the inspiration for this Willy characterization is modeled after lmao. He's also the one who basically introduced me to the whole life partner poly philosophy stuff that's vaguely touched on here so it really is an ode to my local Bandersnatch-lookin' homeboy, woops 😅 No shade though, all love!
> 
> My fic twitter is @pinkmanite, come chill ❤️


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